


A symphony in Hell

by Desidero



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Mild Gore, Mild torture, Time spent in hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desidero/pseuds/Desidero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story about Dean's time in Hell, how he slowly broke and started to become a demon. </p><p>(Not so very graphic torture, just mentioned gore)</p><p>Inspired by the lyrics of the song Crawl by Breaking Benjamin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A symphony in Hell

 

Barking. Growling. Fear.

 

Indescribable pain as the claws and teeth of the hounds ripped through the flesh and bones in his chest, and used him as nothing but a human chew toy. But the worst of it all, was the moment he could feel the hellhound bite his sharp teeth through his very soul, grab it and rip it right out of his body, leaving his body as an empty, dead shell for his brother to bury.

 

Then, darkness.

 

When he woke up on the rack, the pain started again. Excruciating pain. And it started again, and again, and again, and again.

 

Every time his body was cut into pieces, he woke up the next day with a new body, a fresh sheet for the artist to use as he pleased. Alastair wanted Dean to experience all the different kinds of torture in existence, all the different ways to inflict pain. From getting his eyes cut out with blunt knifes and spoons, to being skinned alive, and then bathed in acid.

 

On the end of each day, the demon offered Dean to step off the rack. All he had to do was to pick up Alastair’s knife, and he could get down. But that meant Dean was one step closer to becoming a demon, to let go of his humanity. He would rather only be another tormented soul among thousands other, than becoming a demon himself. So each and every day he refused, he spat the demon in the face and told him he would never break.

 

Dean Winchester would never break.

 

\--

 

 

_A shadow of a man, I'm nothing less_

_I am holding on, Still holding on_

_And every now and then life begins again_

_I am holding on, Still holding on_

 

 

\--

 

 

The days went by, then weeks had passed, then months. Soon he couldn’t even remember how long he had been on this rack, watching Alastair cut, and slice and dice through him like a piece of meat.

Years must have passed by now, over a thousand days with torture, being carved into small bloody chunks, until he dies and his body is remade whole and new again. Over a thousand days had he watched Alastair smile, laugh and sing while he continues to go through his endless list of methods to inflict pain, while asking questions to make sure Dean pays attention, that he learns and remembers. Acting like Dean is his student already.

Even if his eyes are cut out, his lips are in pieces, and his stomach is carved open with the guts spilling out, he still has to answer Alastair’s questions. If he answers correctly he gets to die faster, some of the times. If he doesn’t answer correctly, or refuses to talk, Alastair draws the sessions out. Sometimes for three or four days, just to test how long he can keep the soul alive this time.

Sometimes he draws it out just for fun, too see if he could break his old score, and hopefully Dean too in the process.

But Dean had still his humanity intact. He still remembered his time before Hell, he still remembered Sam. They couldn’t carve that out of him, he still loved and felt, even if his hope that someday, maybe one day, something would happen, was slowly fading away.

So when Alastair continued to offer him his knife, he continued to spit him in the face. He would never be one of the black-eyed demons. He would rather be on this rack forever.

 

He would never break.

 

\--

_I'm not like you_

_Your faceless lies_

_Your weak dead heart_

_Your black dead eyes_

_I'll make it through, but not this time_

_Your hope is gone, and so is mine_

\--

 

The years continued to pass. Over 20 years had he been here, under Alastair’s hand and mercy. He knew the answers to all of the demon’s questions now, he always answered correctly. So the demon started a new game.

He asked Dean everyday which instruments he would prefer his tormentor to use, and how he should use them to inflict the most pain. Dean always had to choose the worst kinds of torture he could think of, then it would be over faster. But it couldn't be over too fast either, he was supposed to suffer as long as possible.

 

Dean started to forget now.

 

His old life, why he was here, and who he had left behind up there. He had been down here for over 20 years, so no one above would probably even remember him now. He could feel his emotions slowly fade away, all that mattered was the rack and Alastair.

All Dean thought of all day, everyday was pain. Finding out which instruments were best to inflict pain, where to cut and carve to cause the most pain on his body, and how to make the soul last the longest without dying.

 

And he was still the soul this was being tested on, he had to tell his own tormentor wich knives, blades and razors to cut him with , and learn from it too. Learn and remember.

 

He was practically his own tormentor now, Alastair was only the one holding the blade, it was Dean that gave the instructions and guided him.

 

And Alastair continued to offer him his blade, to be able to get down from the rack and use his knowledge on the other damned souls.

 

But Dean continued to fight, he wasn’t broken.

 

Not yet.

 

He could hold on. A little longer.

 

\--

_Live, Fight_

_Crawl back inside_

_Sick, Blind_

_Love left behind_

_And I wont live, your weak wicked lie_

_You pull me in, I'm one step behind_

 

\--

 

It took thirty years.

Over 10 000 times had his body been remade, only to be cut up to pieces again. And for the last ten years it was he that had controlled his pain, it was Dean that had thought out all the different ways he could keep his soul alive for at least two days at the time, while at the same time experiencing as much pain as possible.  

He gave the instructions to his tormentor, his teacher.

 

Then, he broke.

 

When Alastair came to him that day, and offered him his blade, he finally said, “Sign me up.”

 

He took the offered knife, and he got off the rack, and stood by Alastair's side.

 

Then a new soul appeared on the rack, and he started to cut. Finally it was his turn to give pain, finally he could make others feel what he has been on the receiving end off for the last thirty years.

He knew all the best places to cut, exactly how sharp or dull the knife should be, where and when to use the acid and salt. When to cut off the limbs, rip out the teeth, and break the fingers and toes.

He could even feel he started to enjoy it, he used all of his anger and knowledge, his expertise, to hurt the souls even more than he had suffered himself.

He had fun, and he enjoyed making them last as long as possible. He even tried to break his masters scores, competed with him. Everytime the soul died for the day, when the last glimpse of life in the damaged eyes died out, he immediately started planning how he could make it even worse for them the next day.

Make the soul last longer, suffer longer. He didn’t want them to break, then he couldn’t give them pain anymore. He wanted them to hold on.

 

And Alastair was proud of his student.

 

\--

_Show me where it hurts_

_And I'll make it worse_

_Are you holding on?_

_Keep holding on_

_Dilated eyes shine for one last time_

_Are you holding on?_

_Keep holding on_

\--

 

Dean was soon becoming Alastair’s best student.

 

He had only been off the rack for two years, but he had been on the rack for so long, that he knew from own experience exactly where to strike, cut and twist.

 

No one made the souls scream like he did. No one made them last as long each day as he did. No one broke them as fast as he did either, twisted them and made as many demons as quick as he did.

 

As he stood by the rack with the acid-dripped razor in his hand, cutting of the soul’s lips while making him sing his favorite song, Dean knew his eyes were darkening. The blackness had started to spread from his pupils, and would soon cover all of the eyes.

 

And he couldn’t feel anything anymore, not like he did before he came down here. He just felt anger, wrath,  pride of his work. His time Up Above was only a distant memory from long ago, he had lived longer in Hell now than he had ever lived on Earth. And there was no way he would ever become human again, all he could do was to embrace what he already was on his way to become. Then, when he was a complete demon he could take a meatsuit one day, and walk the earth again.

 

All he was now was a coldhearted tormentor that stood by his rack all day, inflicting as much pain on his victims as possible while singing and laughing. He enjoyed tormenting the souls, watch as their hope shattered, the moment they started to break, and he could shred their humanity away.

 

 

Dean's own humanity was almost gone, just a small speck of it was left, and Alastair was proud.

 

\--

_You're not like me_

_Your faceless lies_

_Your weak dead heart_

_Your black dead eyes_

_I'll break you in, and let this die_

_Your hope is gone, and so is mine_

 

\--

 

The years continued to pass by, and his form started to change.

 

When he first came down here Dean had held on to his old human form, but his soul was damned and twisted now. His eyes was almost completely black, his teeth got sharper, like a sharks teeth, and his humanlike body was more like a fog he could change and form by will.

 

He started to look like the other damned souls, just another demon in Hell, a monster to be hunted if he ever walked the Earth again.

 

He didn’t even know if he would go Up Above again if he had the choice. Dean was just like Alastair, his teacher and Master, he enjoyed the work too much. They stood side by side, with each their soul and competed on who could make their soul scream the loudest and live the longest, laughing and joking during their games.

 

Dean was Alastair’s favorite, the most talented student he had ever had, a natural. Dean Winchester, former hunter of demons and savior of humans, was now one of the best tormentors in the entire Pit and would one day be a powerful demon.

 

He stood with his blade his hand everyday, to make the soul on the rack scream and bleed. Again, and again and again, each and every day when the soul woke up with the remade body, the fresh sheet to do with as he pleased.

 

The screaming of thousands of damned souls in the Pit was now becoming sweet music in his ears, and he used the blade in his hand to add another voice to the symphony.

 

\--

_I'm becoming a monster, Just like you_

_After it all you'll try to break me too_

_Falling forever, Chasing dreams_

_I brought you to life so I can hear you scream_

 --

 

-fin-


End file.
